Her White Knight
by GenerationHex
Summary: After the events of 'Innocence' and 'Surprise' Xander explores his feelings for Buffy as she turns to him in her hour of need.


"Buffy's white knight. You still love her. It must kill you that I got there first" Courtesy of Angelus in 'Killed by Death', a beautiful quote that tears at my fragile teenage heart every time I hear it.  
  
Ideal companion listening for this story has to be 'I Won't Spend Another Night Alone' and '1*15*96' by The Ataris. In fact almost everything from the album 'Blue Skies and Broken Hearts.Next 12 Exits' should hit the spot  
  
Thanks to anyone who can actually stomach this drivel. It's written from the POV of Xander who I have no trouble whatsoever emphasising with, not just because of him being an incredible loser (at least in the first two seasons), although that plays a part. I plan on tormenting you with a sequel, you have been warned, better start heading for the hills people.  
  
~~Her White Knight~~  
  
I hovered hesitantly by the door as she curled up against the comforting heat of my radiator, she looked so vulnerable, so withdrawn, a far cry from the tough Slayer I had desired with my heart and soul since the very moment we met. I admired her strength, seeing where I lacked it in myself. Now it was my turn to be the hero, I was going to be there for her when she needed me most.  
  
A few hours ago Buffy had turned up on my doorstep, seeking a haven from the demons that hounded her, for once these demons were proverbial. She had some issues with Angel and I chose not to interfere, she had come to me to escape the prying of Willow (she means well but the girl has to learn when to stop) and the blustering and meddling of Giles (he's British, there's no excuse for that) I'd cracked a few jokes, but all she could do was look at me with her sad brown eyes that threatened to drown me in her grief. I felt like dirt for trivialising her pain but that was the only way I knew how to act, humour was always my way of coping with problems. I wished I had something to say that could make it all better.  
  
I turned off the light and shut the door behind me. I stood for a moment more watching the flickering light from my television set play across her face. Her chin was rested on her knees that she had drawn close for comfort, her slender fingers gently caressing her sleeve. She was dressed for comfort in a way that most men would find totally unsensual, but not me, anything that Buffy chose to wear would without a doubt send shivers down my spine. I gently slid down to the floor next to her, brushing aside a stack of tattered X-Men comics and unwashed socks, she watched me with her sad eyes and a weak smile toyed fleetingly with her face  
  
"You don't get many girls up here do you?"  
  
"Only you" I grinned stupidly at her. Wedging myself up against the radiator I wrapped my arms around her, bringing her close. She curled up against me as I pressed my face into her long hair, darkened in the dim glow of the television. I nuzzled against her sleek, glossy hair; searching for the velvety warmth of her neck I gently brushed my lips against her pale skin and breathed in the aroma of her, a woody, piny smell lingered on her clothes perhaps from a car air freshener. She had never seemed so small as she did now, as if all of her super-strength had been drained leaving in their place the weak and helpless form of a teenage girl. It was this girl I wanted, as a Slayer she had always made me feel vaguely inadequate, the source some of my more bizarre power fantasies but as a girl she made me feel how I always wished I could feel; like a boy. I eased away gently letting her slide back up against the radiator, scrambling for the remote I flicked over to the channel I was after.  
  
We sat there for maybe two hours giggling together in front of some comedy reruns, just basking in each other's company, enjoying the comfortable silence. She smiled at me warmly as the laughter track reached its zenith and poked me in the leg, I responded in kind and she poked me again this time in the shoulder. As she leant over to poke me again I pushed my head against hers and she responded with a firm push to the forehead. We sat there, our heads brushing against each other's as we duelled in some childish game. The movement slowed and we found ourselves gazing intensely into each other, now the sadness had left her deep brown eyes and they sparkled with a fierce intensity. Our lips met briefly in the darkness before we slid apart  
  
"you're a fool" she purred fondly as we settled back in front of the television.  
  
As the final credits rolled by, I flicked the switch and the pictured dimmed to a final bright point before the darkness washed in. We lay in each other's arms, cheek to cheek for what seemed like hours. We caressed each other, her hand stroking my knee through the frayed denim of my jeans. I could feel her breath upon my mouth, hot and sweet, my heart beat so fast that I could hear it pounding in my ears. The silky warmth of her cheek cried out for my touch. The moment was filled with cinematic magic, it was as if we were being pushed together, the mood demanded action. I tilted my head leaving our lips mere millimetres apart, I could image their glistening fullness in my mind. I stopped, this wasn't right; I had to be the hero. She was wounded, emotional barbs bit deep into her and I was a brief respite from the pain and indecision that hounded her every motion. This moment that I had dreamed about at night, ached for every time she was near, I had to sacrifice that. I love her too much to take advantage of her, even if my heart screams in revolt; I would do the right thing  
  
"Its gonna hurt when I turn the light back on" I whispered into the darkness.  
  
I had to be her white Knight. 


End file.
